


To the Nines

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Lost Tales of the Coats and Customs 'verse [1]
Category: Coats and Customs 'verse - Fandom, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arwen, Queen of Gondor, is off to the Ladies' Winter Ball. That means bodyguards in fancy dress. Mardi is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Nines

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Reign of King Aragorn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/988317) by [imaginary_golux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux). 



> This story takes place in the Coats and Customs AU, written by my beta & Best Beloved, Imaginary_Golux. It is brilliant. You should read it. You probably don't need to read it to understand what's going on in this story, but you'll be playing catch-up.

The Ladies' Winter Ball is one of the grand occasions of Minas Tirith society. Any woman with even a drop of noble blood will spend weeks trying to beg, bribe, or blackmail her way into an invitation, for the guest list is small, and there are only two names certain to be on it. One of them is Baroness Iolanthe, the generous hostess.

The other is Arwen, Queen of Gondor. And so Mardi and Boromir have been fitted, rather against their wills, with gowns in the latest fashion. Mardi understands the need for bodyguards for Arwen, even at an all-female event. Frankly, she has helped hire several female assassins and spies. Come to that, she has taken practice with the crossbow beside a few of them. “I still don't understand why I cannot wear my dress uniform,” Mardi gripes, and shivers as Elia takes her measure. “Isn't this why we have dress uniforms?”

“Dress uniforms are all well and good for martial events,” Elia corrects her and runs her tape around Mardi's waist without stopping. “They will not do for the most elegant ball of the season.” Mardi sighs, but knows better than to argue with Elia about matters of fashion. Elia smiles as she turns away to check a measurement against her notes in case the dress requires any last minute tailoring. “Besides, it's only one day a year. And there won't be any gentlemen to make passes at you. Possibly a few of the ladies...”

Mardi wasn't sure how to feel when Elia had first revealed that relationships like theirs were more common than the average Gondorian cared to admit, though usually behind closed doors or at women-only events, or both, like the Winter Ball. Even married women would permit themselves the occasional clandestine rendezvous. This was news to the woman who had spent much of her adult life facing a certain level of ostracism for her stubbornness and her repeated applications to the Guard. She had the sudden, desperate fear that Arwen would pick out a young noble lady for a dalliance—in a place where Mardi could see her—and force her to choose between her loyalty to Arwen and her loyalty to Aragorn. 

“Well,” Elia says, running a finger down her lists of measurements, “it seems you haven't changed at all since I began making your dress. Still in peak physical form, much as I suspected.” Elia ran a proprietary hand along Mardi's well-muscled forearm. “Shall we dress you, then, and let you defend our queen?” 

Mardi peels off her undertunic and blushes, even now, as Elia eyes her. She is at once reminded why she prefers the simpler preparations of male dress and filled with an increased admiration for those who manage to wear—and create—such complicated outfits every day as she squirms into the necessary undergarments for the dress. Granted, her own ensemble is made somewhat more complicated by the weapons carefully concealed close to her body, but Mardi feels infinitely more comfortable having more steel about her than is needed for her stays. 

At long last—it feels like forever—Elia produces Mardi's dress. “It is beautiful,” Mardi admits without quite realizing it.

“And functional,” Elia adds, pointing out the quick-release for the long, trailing skirts which will leave Mardi rather less modest, but more able to fight; the gloves with reinforced palms to cushion a blow in a sword-fight; and yes, there is a shortsword tucked somewhere amidst the folds. It is a marvel, and Elia beams as she straps her beloved into it. “And the blue is of the same value as the green in your cape, so they should look perfect together.” Mardi bends stiffly to kiss her—of course she would think of that. 

“It will be as though you were by my side all night,” Mardi tells her, and kisses her again.

“Don't be daft,” Elia says, stepping out of her frock and pulling closer a dummy clad in a silver-foil gown. “I will be by your side all night.” Mardi's jaw drops. Elia scoffs. “Don't look so surprised, my love. The Queen's bodyguard must be ready for all contingencies. After all, Arwen is hardly the only woman in Gondor who desires the services of the finest seamstress in the realm. When I heard that you were to accompany Arwen to the Winter Ball, I put out a few feelers, and by the end of the day an invitation was on my worktable.” Mardi cannot help but gape until Elia at last closes her mouth with a kiss. “I'm very glad that you're impressed. Now give me a hand with these hooks, my dear.” 

“Yes, of course,” she manages, and it takes her three tries to get them just right, not because she is clumsy with her fingers, but because she cannot stop laughing. For the first time in weeks, Mardi is looking forward to tonight's ball.


End file.
